


Playing Favorites

by Drachenkinder



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Captive, Coercion, Implied Noncon, Implied Torture, Mental Anguish, Murder referenced, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drachenkinder/pseuds/Drachenkinder
Summary: A short Reader and Grandmaster encounter. Never done one so thought I'd give it a try





	Playing Favorites

There is a moment, a moment of silence after the footsteps stop outside your door, when you hope they will move on. Hope his attention will be drawn by the commotion down the hall.

“Hey you two, get a room… well, take it into your room. And put down a tarp this time… Oh yeah…”

The yelling becomes muffled as they follow the laughing orders.

“...don’t toss the remains out the window either. You nearly gave Marroart heart failure.”

He chuckles at the memory you share, of the gasping, wide eyed Xenorian staggering into the hall as bloody viscera slides down the outside of the glass wall behind him. 

“There’s an incinerator for a reason.” 

The door slides open and he stands relaxed, one hand on his hip, turning toward you as the pleading is cut off by a soft swishing sound. He huffs out a finale soft breath of laughter and grins. His eyes sparkle in merriment.

“Those, Vorbarns.” He shakes his silver haired head. “What a bunch of cut ups.”

His mouth widens, baring shining white teeth against his tanned skin and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He looks for all the world like someone’s harmless uncle telling comedic stories, the really sweet guy who nonetheless is the life of the party. You laugh at the joke. Laugh knowing right now, the murderous monsters who are presently serving as his favorite enforcers are tearing to shreds someone who has fallen out of his favor.

He glides across the room, running his hand over the sideboard. Pauses to examine the few things that remain from your old life. A paperback book, cover worn from reading and rereading. That odd stone you stuck in your pocket meaning to clean it up when you returned from your walk. Your key ring with that memento from… never mind. It makes no difference now. You’re not going home. No one goes home.

There is a rumor that someone once did. But that goes hand in hand with the rumor that he was overthrown. You know that one’s a lie. He is still here and his entire world is under his thumb.

The last thing he touches is a beautiful sculpture, all translucent golds and electric blues shot through with bits of sparking ruby. Abstract it represents nothing, or perhaps everything. His gift to you. He taps it with a blue fingertip and you wince. The low vibrations ring at the edge of hearing. They will keep building, almost imperceptibly, lulling at first, almost pleasant, they’ll get louder till they reverberate through your bones and make your brain misfire with flaring sparks that resolve eventually into the throbbing, nauseating pain of a migraine. 

But that’s hours and hours away. He likes to see you anticipate it, hope that maybe this time you’ll be taken out of the room before it reaches crescendo. He knows it makes you act more willing, if willing is even a state of mind on this hell world, to accept his invitation to tonight’s entertainment. If he does invite you. You’re not his favorite, not yet at least. One of four, or maybe three. Rumors again, that one turned down a suggestion. Maybe that’s who the Vorbarns have.

He looks you over and you stand self-consciously. The clothes he had made for you are a parody of your own style. Beautiful in a way, and gaudy of course, as everything is here. But made to subtlety enhance your every insecurity and leave you feeling open and vulnerable. Physically comfortable and physiologically devastating. The clothes aren’t even very revealing if you get down to it. But somehow they are worse than being naked.

“Don’t you look lovely?” He purrs.

His voice cuts right through your defenses and you stand taller under his eyes, offering yourself to his predatory gaze. It doesn’t matter that you know he’s a monster. He’s a beautiful, powerful monster and one you have to please. His approval means you’re safe for a little longer. Safe as you can be here. 

“I knew this was perfect, just perfect for you. Baby, you are gonna be the star of the party tonight.” 

Your heart beats faster, you’ve seen star performances before. He smiles at your expression and his hand touches your cheek, traces down your face. His long fingers cup your jaw a little too hard. You force yourself to smile back as you meet his eyes, warm, golden brown and soft. His eyes are so gentle on the surface. You could almost miss that glint of malice.

**Author's Note:**

> Mental exercise about how it might feel to be one of the Grandmaster's favorites.


End file.
